


these are the nights

by obirain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brief mention of drugs, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Light Angst, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obirain/pseuds/obirain
Summary: Post-sex cuddles with Obi-Wan
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/You
Kudos: 20





	these are the nights

_“Let’s sleep,”_ he said. He has to leave tomorrow: plunging deep into that stark, glistening vacuum, alone on a stiff mattress in a sterile room, trapped in a hulking mass of steel. Far away from your little room, from your nest of fleecy blankets. Far away from you, and the sound of light rain falling.

 _“Let’s sleep,”_ he said. You have a long day ahead of you: long and, if the forecast holds, very, very wet. The liminal space between old and new, and a night of prayer in the darkness that he’ll come back to you.

 _“Let’s sleep,”_ he said, and you agreed—but sometimes sleep just isn’t enough. Sometimes it’s bare skin against bare skin, the bruises on your hips and the scratches down his chest, the moans he makes for _you alone_ that flood your senses with nectar and ambrosia. It’s addictive, it’s dangerous. A draught of opium straight to your soul, a repose too carnal for sleep. A renewal.

When you collapse beside him on shaky limbs, you expect silence or something like it. You expect the shuddering, post-ecstasis gasps to slow, and slow, and slow… slow until your breaths are lost to the rhythm of raindrops, and the rest of the waking world. 

But his fingers still trace the dip of your waist as you lie in the crook of his arm. 

“Obi…” You press your face into his chest, tasting faintly the salt of his sweat. 

He hums; his fingers dig into your hip. 

“Obi, what’s wrong?”

“Tired, is all.”

“Go to sleep.”

You feel him chuckle before you hear it. “Of course, darling.”

He kisses the top of your head. You close your eyes, and listen to the rain. 

The minutes pass, and his fingers still paint patterns down your spine.

 _“Obi.”_ Louder this time, with a squeeze of his arm as you push yourself up to look at his face. He stares at the ceiling with weary intensity; his eyes look colorless in the fragile, midnight light. You can’t help but wonder if yours look the same.

_“What’s wrong.”  
_

You _know_ he hears you, silent as he is. Not a light in his eye flickers, not a muscle twitches as he lies beneath you, beneath the low ceiling, beneath a sky run ragged with wind and wet. Weary, weary, weary. 

Your hand moves up his chest, tracing his sternum, his collarbones, the curve of his jaw like gold inlays in fine china. He sighs as you smooth your thumb over his cheek, and shudders when you run your nails through the streaks of gray. His eyes flutter shut.

“It’s been raining for so long.” Obi-Wan tightens his hold on your waist, pressing into the new-blooming bruises he’d given you. His voice is strangled. “I doubt it will stop soon.”

You sigh as your fingers continue to drift. They smooth the wayward strands of hair from his forehead—always so deliberately combed aside, so professional, so proper. Yet when the need to _feel_ you overcomes him, it’s ruined in seconds—and a beautiful ruin it is, though brief. You stroke the crease between his brows, permanent but for fleeting moments in pale darkness. Moments like this, as you resolve not to stop until it disappears. Just for a little while.

“I like the rain,” you whisper against his skin. “I like the air… and the smell. When everything’s new.”

He smiles—gently, peacefully, even as he grips your hips like a vice. “Of course. Although I very much doubt that I shall be here to see it.”

You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the spicy, almost earthy scent of him. The sound of rainfall is lost to the drum of his heart, strong and steady as the sunrise. It grounds you, swaddles you, comforts you. So why are your eyes filling with tears?

You don’t know but they do, and you can’t catch them before the drops bleed into his skin. So you press your lips against the wetness there, and again against an ageing bruise at his shoulder, and against a fading scar at the juncture of his neck. Against the column of his throat, against the curve of his ear. Against the tinges of gray at the corner of his mouth, against his lips. 

He groans into your mouth like a man starved, pulling you tighter against him and digging his fingers into your hair. But there’s no rush, either. A caress of fine velvet, a sip of fine wine. A moment to drink deep from a glass of cracked crystal, to bask in the warmth and the suffocating fullness of his skin on yours. An oath. A salve. A seal. 

You’re the first to pull away, just far enough to trace again the crease in his forehead, and drift down the bridge of his nose. 

_“Go to sleep,”_ you mumble against his cheek. 

Obi-Wan sighs, and leaves a last kiss at the corner of your mouth before relaxing his grip on you. You sink back down into the crook of his arm, shivering when he resumes his feather-light patterns along your bare back. But his touches slow, and slow, and slow…

“And I suppose… it’ll be sunny… when I get back.”

You hum and press a kiss to his chest, feather light. Closing your eyes. Listening to the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> For the blurb that inspired this piece, check it out on my [tumblr](https://obirain.tumblr.com/post/628742779997192192/you-wanted-soft-thots-post-sex-snuggles-with) :)


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